


Man's Best Friend

by artemisscribe



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Jeff gets a dog, and Watney the puppy, i plan on this being a bit of an emotional roller coaster so apologies if traumatic shit happens, sorry - Freeform, the dog dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-28 01:51:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14438925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemisscribe/pseuds/artemisscribe
Summary: Jeff's sons are worried. Since the death of their mother their Dad has been depressed, distant and indescribably lonely. They know they can never get him to try and date someone else. So they find him the next best thing: a dog.





	1. The Birthday Present

Jeff is trying and failing to forget his birthday when Scott wanders into the office and flops down in the chair facing the desk.

 

“Can I help you?” Jeff asks, briefly glancing over the top of his glasses at his eldest son.

 

“You know how you hate birthdays, surprises, and parties?” Scott responds casually, pausing as his father groans and drops his head into his hands. “Yeah, that thing you’re imagining is exactly what is happening in about fifteen minutes.”

 

“Why did you let them plan a party?”

 

“Because Mom was your whole birthday and everyone is worried that you’re going to be all sad and miserable!”   
  


“You know that sad and miserable are the same thing right?” Jeff points out.

 

“Whatever,” Scott shrugs, “I tried to stop it, but Grandma is a force of nature, so please  _ please _ try to look surprised about this. And more importantly  _ happy _ about it.”

 

“I’m making no promises,” Jeff grumbles, reshuffling his papers and going back to staring at growth projection figures.

 

“Alright, fine. You don’t have to like the party. Grandma should know better by now. But you do have to like the present okay? It was Alan’s idea, and honestly I think it’s going to be good for you.”

 

Jeff looks up from his report and narrows his eyes at Scott.

 

“Why?” he asks suspiciously, “What did you get me?”


	2. The Name Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeff isn't thrilled about the newest member of the family and it takes Virgil's insistence to get the pup a name.

“He’s going back!”

 

In the three weeks since the puppy arrived it has peed on just about every piece of furniture in the apartment and chewed two pairs of Jeff’s shoes.

 

“Dad! Come on” Virgil says, trying to soothe his father’s frayed temper. “He’s just a puppy and he’s still settling in. He’s not even trained yet.”

 

“He’s the spawn of satan and he’s going!” Jeff says, trying to be commanding, but failing. He suspects that has something to do with the way the harshness of his comments contrasts with the big brown eyes and wagging tail of the twelve week old golden retriever that stares adoringly up at him as he complains.

 

He’s really trying to stay mad at the dog, He is. But damn him the little thing is too cute. And the smug look on Virgil’s face says that it’s obvious he’s caving this time.

 

“Fine!” Jeff sighs, before bending to wag his finger in front of the puppy, “But you’re on thin ice mister.”

 

The dog, seemingly oblivious to the reprimand starts licking Jeff’s hand, and all he can really do is sigh again.

 

“Admit it,” Virgil says, scooping the puppy up into his arms, “He’s growing on you.”

 

“We’ll see” Jeff says. “Keep him out of trouble, I have a meeting.”   
  


“You talking to me or the dog?”

 

Jeff laughs and shrugs,

 

“I don’t know, both?”

 

“You still need to name him!” Virgil calls after Jeff as he heads to the elevator, though he pretends he doesn’t hear him.

 

Honestly the whole dog thing makes Jeff uncomfortable. 

 

It’s not that he doesn’t like dogs, he grew up with dogs on the farm, they were a huge part of his childhood. But this dog isn’t for herding or protection. This dog is to solve a problem. And the problem is Jeff.

 

He knows he’s been different this last year. They’re all changed by the loss of Lucy, the only difference being that he had hoped the kids hadn’t noticed it in him.

 

But Lucy’s boys are bright and observant. They’ve seen him turning to tell her something before he remembers she isn’t there any more. They’ve noticed him often sleeping on the sofa in his office; claiming to have dozed off while working, but really dreading the thought of sleeping alone in a cold bed in a silent room. 

 

His sleep is terrible, his diet is worse and his doctors keep warning him that if he carries on like this it’ll be another heart attack. So far he’s been lucky enough to survive two. Living through a third is unlikely.

 

And so the dog makes him feel guilty. The dog is his children telling him they’re afraid they aren’t enough of a reason for him to want to live. Of course it’s not that that makes him feel guilty. It’s the fact that some days they’re right. Some days he opens his eyes and stares at the empty pillow beside him and he wants to give up. To not go on. But then where would his boys be without both their parents? And so guilt piles on top of grief, and he gets even less sleep than he did before.

 

There are some benefits to insomnia of course; he’s getting a lot more reading done. Anything to keep his brain busy right now. 

 

He keeps returning to an old favourite, Mark Watney’s autobiography. There’s something about Mark’s struggle to survive Mars that feels complementary to the situation Jeff finds himself in. 

 

“Maybe I should name the dog after Mark” Jeff muses to himself and then chuckles. The idea sounds oddly entertaining when he considers it out loud. “Mark the dog?” he asks the empty elevator car, “No. Dogs shouldn’t have people names… Watney. We can call him Watney.”


	3. The Teddy Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Alan tries to cheer up a post-op pup he and Jeff have a talk about sadness.

 

Jeff’s worried about the bear. 

 

Lucy came up with it when she had to go away on business trips and the boys fretted without her. For two or three nights before she left, she slept with a teddy bear tucked up against her chest so that whichever son found himself overcome with separation anxiety could be comforted with something that smelled of Mom.

 

Of course four of her children have grown out of it. Only Alan, barely five years old when they lost her, has yet to give up the bear. And in recent weeks it’s been keeping Jeff awake at night.

 

It loses her smell pretty fast, and when it does Alan becomes fretful and restless and cries at almost anything. So up until now he’s been wrapping it in items of her clothing to get that scent back, but he’s almost out of clothes, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if anything happens to that damn bear. He’s terrified that Alan’s heart might break.

 

So when Jeff wanders into the living room one day to find Watney curled up on his cushion, happily chewing the ear off Alan’s beloved teddy bear, he freaks out a little bit.

 

“No!” he yells, diving to snatch the toy away from Watney, “Bad dog!”

 

Watney sits up, a little awkwardly thanks to the plastic cone collar encasing his head, and barks at Jeff who holds the teddy bear out of the way.

 

“No!” Jeff repeats.

 

“Daddy don’t be mean!” 

 

Alan comes rushing over from the hallway and snatches the bear from his father’s hands and passes it back to the dog, who settles back down, tail wagging as he chews on the ear some more.

 

“Alan, sweetheart,” Jeff says gently, “Aren’t you worried that Watney is going to shred Mr Bear?”

 

“It’s okay” Alan says. “If he does we can get another one.”

 

“Do you want another one?” Jeff asks,

 

“No.” Alan frowns as if Jeff has said something ridiculous. “Mr Bear is for when you’re sad. I’m not sad. But Watney was sad after going to the vet.”

 

“Yes he was,” Jeff agrees, still feeling a little guilty about the mournful looks the poor dog has given him since they brought him home from being neutered. He crouches down to join Alan on the floor and ruffle Watney’s ears.

 

“And see, he’s not sad now” Alan continues as Watney’s tail swishes contentedly.

 

“No he’s not” Jeff agrees. “I’m glad that you’re not sad anymore too Alan.”

 

“Me too” Alan says, his focus still on petting the dog even as he talks to his father. “But I don’t have to be sad now because you’re not sad.”

 

Jeff blinks as he tries to process Alan’s words and the creeping sense of guilt that comes along with them.

 

“What do you mean Squirt?”

 

“Well Grandma says that sad people shouldn’t be on their own so I was sad with you. But you smile more now so I don’t have to be sad.”

 

Jeff blinks back the prickling in the corner of his eye and takes a steadying breath. He fucking loves this kid, he really does.

 

“I think what Grandma meant is when a person is sad we should try to help them find ways to be happier.”

 

“Like when we brought Watney home for you?” Alan asks

 

“Exactly” Jeff smiles. “And you don’t have to make yourself be sad or make yourself be happy just because other people are. You just feel however you want to feel okay?”

 

Alan considers this for a while, before nodding.

 

“Okay. Can I go play lego now?”

 

“Sure thing Squirt” Jeff grins.

 

As Alan scrambles to his feet and runs off Watney shuffles closer to nudge Jeff’s hand for more scritches. Jeff tears his gaze away from the doorway his little boy disappeared through to smile down at the dog.

 

“Good boy.”


	4. The Insomniac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watney solves Jeff's sleep problem.

Life is good.

 

Watney is three years old, and pretty much the perfect companion. He doesn’t get up on the couch, he can be left alone with a hamburger, he likes to lie under the desk in the office with his head on Jeff’s feet, and is far stricter about the doctor prescribed daily walk than Jeff’s secretary Diana ever could be. 

 

And it’s nice not to be alone Jeff realises. Of course there’s nothing and no one that can replace Lucy, but if he’s going to remain firm on not starting a new relationship, which he is, then as the kids leave for college (Scott, John and now Virgil) or reach the “too cool for hugs” phase, (Gordon and Alan) Jeff knows he needs some source of affection in his life. 

 

And apparently Watney agrees. He brings toys to Jeff more often in the few weeks after they pack Virgil off to college, seeks out more playtime. He’s less interested in greeting strangers who come to the office or the penthouse, preferring to stick close to Jeff, leaning gently against his master’s leg while everyone talks. He’s even more reluctant to trail after Alan when a bag of chips gets opened, when he’s usually ever hopeful of dropped crumbs for him to hoover up.

 

And it works. Jeff finds himself happier and more settled than he’s been in a long time. The only problem is the nights. 

 

He never managed well sleeping alone. Back when he and Lucy were flying all over the place, trying to build the company up he’d have to call her to be able to fall asleep. But now she’s gone. And the kids haven’t come to him for nightmares or cuddles for longer than he can remember now. 

 

So he’s back to the restless nights he had the first year after his wife died. Tossing and turning; dozing but never really sleeping. 

 

Sometimes, and he’ll never admit to this because he feels pathetic even thinking about it in the cold light of day, he squeezes his eyes tight shut and imagines Lucy lying beside him in some vain hope of tricking his mind into sleep.

 

It never works, but tonight for some reason it does. He’s hovering in the odd space between conscious and asleep when somehow his brain manages to conjure up the feeling of a warm weight settling against his back. If he weren’t so exhausted he might have questioned it, but he is, so he lets sleep claim him.

 

He misses his alarm in the morning, for the first time in forever. He doesn’t wake up until a harrassed sounding and anxious Gordon comes into the bedroom.

 

“Daaaaaaad! Come on I’m gonna be late to prac- hey why is Watney allowed on your bed and not ours?”

 

Jeff is a little befuddled, trying to collect his thoughts as he comes round properly. The clock says 05:18 so they are very late for Gordon’s swim practice, but he’s got no clue what the dog thing is about as he rolls over to look at his son.

 

“What? The dog isn’t-” Jeff starts. But he can’t in good conscience deny that the dog is allowed on the bed when he’s suddenly nose to nose with Watney. “Ah.” he says, “Bad dog.”

 

He says it with a smile though, and gets a tail wag in response and a nudge to prompt a stroke.

 

“ _ Dad _ !” Gordon says again, “We’re late!”

 

“Alright! I’m coming.”

 

Thanks to the hecticness of missing his alarm it’s not until much later that Jeff really thinks about the morning. Waking up in a good mood, feeling more relaxed, well rested. It’s almost annoying to go to bed that night and toss and turn again. 

 

Only when Watney nudges the door open, pads across to rest his chin on the bed and give him a questioning glance that Jeff pieces together the source of his good night sleep.

 

This is a crossing the rubicon moment. If he starts letting the dog up on the bed then that’s the beginning of bad habits. But it’s two in the morning and Jeff is lonely. 

 

He sighs and pats the quilt beside him. Watney does not hesitate before leaping up and curling up with him; stretched out at his side with head on his hip. The weight of him is instantly reassuring, and Jeff can feel his brain begin to slowly switch off as he plays with Watney’s ears.

 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but the cold wet nose nudging his cheek jolts him awake ten seconds before the alarm starts beeping. 

 

Jeff opens his eyes to find Watney’s nose millimeters from his own and he can’t help but laugh.

 

Yeah, life is good.


	5. The Snack Tax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When John leaves Thunderbird Five for a weekend off rotation he wasn't expecting to have to battle for his lunch.

“Damn it Watney! Go away!”

 

Jeff wanders into the lounge to see John bodily trying to shield his sandwich from the dog peering over his shoulder on the sofa.

 

“Don’t be mean to my dog!” Jeff scolds as he ruffles Watney’s ears.

 

“If your dog was better behaved then I wouldn’t have to be mean to him” John says.

 

“Aw, no! You’re a good boy aren’t you Watney?” Jeff coos, and the dog leaves John and his sandwich be to seek out cuddles from his master.

 

“I swear, he’s getting worse by the day.” John says around a mouthful of pastrami.

 

“How would you know? You’re never here. You’re always on Five.”

 

“Because on Five I can eat a sandwich without getting molested by the damn dog!”

 

“He’s an old man,” Jeff says, squishing Watney’s cheeks so he can look into the dog’s deep brown eyes, “Us old men can do what we like. Anyway did you pay the snack tax?”

 

“Snack tax?” John echoes.

 

“You made food,” Jeff explains, “Did you give him some?”

 

“Did I give-?” John starts, “I’m sorry, who are you and what have you done with my Dad?”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”   
  


“I once watched you take a fry back off Alan when he picked it off your plate!”

 

“So?” Jeff shrugs

 

“He was seven!”

 

“And your point is?”

 

“My point is you never share food but now the dog gets to tax my lunch?”

 

“Well maybe if you spent more time with us we wouldn’t fall into these bad habits” Jeff says airily.

 

John is about to argue back but there’s something about the glint in his Dad’s eye. 

 

“You’re fucking with me aren’t you?”

 

“Watch your language, but yes” Jeff says, laughing as John sighs. “Oh come on kiddo, you’re gone so much it’s easy to make shit up.”

 

John can’t stop himself laughing a little. Dad’s right after all, he is gone too much. The changes in everyone are too obvious. Alan seems inches taller every time he comes home, the bags under Scott’s eyes are ever darker, the wrinkles when Dad laughs are deeper and more defined.

 

Even the dog looks older. Watney’s seemingly eternal puppydom is officially over and the 14 year old retriever snout is white and his movements are slow and stiff. 

 

Jeff watches John contemplate the dog.

 

“You’ll keep an eye on him for me while I’m away won’t you?” Jeff says. 

 

“Yeah of course” John says, knowing that this is orders to stand down from duties disguised as dogsitting. After all, his brothers are all on the island to look after the dog too. “It’s only the weekend right?”

 

“Yeah,” Jeff smiles, kissing the top of Watney’s head. “I’ll be home Monday.


	6. The last Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Jeff's disappearance.

Scott’s vision is slowly being blurred by hot tears as he digs; striking the earth like it has insulted his mother. He knows that there’s no point in being angry, after all this is life, but he’s exhausted and small and helpless and then this fucking ordeal just got worse.

 

Scott has never really considered himself privileged. His family’s wealth and power has opened many doors and solved many problems during his life of course, even so, discovering that money and contacts and equipment can’t do a single fucking thing to bring his dad back is a slap in the face. Cash and lawyers cannot be thrown at this problem. Mother nature laughs in the face of handsome billionaires. And Scott is ready to scream. 

 

He’s avoiding looking at Watney, lying under a nearby tree. The dog is the only one of them who grieved over the past few months. And Scott was a dick to him because of it. Scolding him for his mournful howling in the night, shutting him in the study to stop him from lying pathetically by Dad’s bedroom door. He was impossible to comfort, even for Alan who, after spending 18 hours in a pod, scouring the South Pacific for any trace of Dad’s plane would put off dragging his tired ass to bed in order to sit with a handful of chicken scraps to try and coax the dog into eating.

 

Scott wished he could have curled up outside Dad’s room and refused all food, but the entire weight of the Tracy Empire fell on his shoulders. There has been no time to mourn until now.

 

They called off the search for Dad yesterday. Six months on from his plane going down he and his brothers finally let Colonel Casey call time on the rescue mission. 

 

The Colonel also ordered IR stood down for a week.

 

“You boys need time,” she had said when Scott and John had tried to protest, “Get some sleep, grieve your father. If you need something to do you can walk the dog.”

 

Getting up this morning had been odd. No frantic stress to get out on search patrol, no rescue calls, John’s bedroom door shut to signal his presence on the island, Gordon not abiding by his usual 5am swim. 

 

Scott pads through the silent villa trying to absorb his new reality as an orphan when he spots Alan sat with the dog in front of Dad’s door.

 

“Hey Al,” he says, keeping his voice soft in deference to the silence of the house.

 

It’s only when his little brother looks up that he sees the tears.

 

“He’s dead” Alan says, his voice cracking with emotion.

 

“Oh Allie, I know it’s awful but Dad wouldn’t want you to cry over him.”

 

“No Scott!” Alan sobs, clutching the dog closer, “Watney’s died. He knows Dad’s not coming back and he died.”

 

In six months Scott hasn’t cried. Not even yesterday when he finally agreed to give up on his father, but as he digs the little grave up on the cliff point he knows he’s at breaking point. 

 

One more shovel full and he lets himself drop to his knees and sob. It’s too much, and he’s too young, but it’s all on him now.  No more false hope that they’ll wake up to an SOS. No more pretending that Dad is just in the other room. And now his sweet little shadow has gone to join him wherever the fuck he is.

 

He looks over at Watney at last, under the tree, wrapped in a blanket, looking to all the world like he’s asleep. He looks at peace. Scott can only long for peace.

 

Watney’s bigger and heavier now than he was when they smuggled him into Virgil’s wardrobe the night before Dad’s birthday, but still puppy soft. 

 

Scott had insisted that he’d do this himself, but he can’t bring himself to start filling in the grave. It’s just one more loss that he’s going to have to accept when he isn’t ready. So he sits, staring out over the ocean, one hand trailing through golden fur as the sun first rises to its zenith and then begins to sink back down towards the horizon. 

 

The sky is pink as Alan silently joins him, orange when John squeezes his shoulder and flops down beside him, red when Gordon arrives with the whiskey bottle.

 

It’s twilight when Virgil turns up.

 

“You want a hand Scooter?”

 

“Yeah,” Scott nods. “It’s time to say goodbye.”


End file.
